


"I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve."

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Library, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's career as a hard-ass lawyer leaves him feeling jaded. Luckily, he has a quiet place to which he can escape - and a person he can always turn to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve."

"No, that’s not gonna work. I need the files tonight, we’re going to trial in three days. I don’t care if it’s Friday, it could be freakin’ Christmas and I’d still need those files on my desk before seven! Yes… yeah, good. Thanks." Dean slammed the phone down. Through the glass door of his office, he saw Garth, his secretary, giving him the thumbs-up. He nodded in return, and swivelled his chair back around to face his computer.

Dean loved and hated playing the hard-ass in equal measure; it left him feeling powerful but also strangely empty, as though he were a tin man, clanging his instructions down the phone line and jittering mechanically around the office robot-style. Dean bit his lip. He knew that he couldn’t do better than this job for pay, but it was turning him into someone he didn’t like being. He gave himself a little shake and sat up straight, then glanced down at the book on his desk - a library copy of Nineteen Eighty-Four.

"TGIF," he muttered to himself as he settled in for his last few hours of work. Thank God it’s Friday, because Friday meant no work for a couple of days, and that meant lazy lie-ins, late breakfasts and long hours spent in front of the TV catching up with Dr Sexy MD. And, of course, Friday also meant late-night opening at the local library, and that meant Cas.

"Stop smiling to yourself in there," came Garth’s crackly voice over the intercom. "It’s creepy, Dean."

"You’re… creepy," Dean called back, not bothering to use the phone. "And that’s Mr Winchester, to you."  
"Yeah, well, creepy Crowley is gonna be the one firing you if you don’t get your ass in gear and do your paperwork,  _Mister Winchester_ ,” Garth replied. Dean groaned, and started to type. Only a few more hours, he reminded himself.

Dean had started visiting the library a few months earlier. His brother Sam was always going on at him about reading more, so he figured one trip couldn’t hurt, and maybe they’d have some stuff on classic cars, or classic rock. He definitely hadn’t been planning to pick up any classic literature. But then he’d met Cas, and one trip had become two, which had become three, and somehow suddenly Friday evenings were late-night-at-the-Library evenings. Tonight, as Dean pushed through the doors and inhaled the dusty, papery smell, he felt himself relax into the familiarity. He wandered slowly up an aisle of shelves, tapping his fingers against the spines of the books he’d read recently: Vonnegut, check. Steinback, check. Harper Lee, check. The day’s harsh sunlight had honeyed to a sweet, syrupy glow, and up ahead Cas was sitting at his desk, bathed in burnished tones. Dean felt an irrepressible smile at the sight: Cas had his glasses perched on the end of his nose, and as he opened a book, a soft plume of dust motes rose into the air and danced around him like a caramel mist. Cas sneezed.

Dean approached the table with his usual swagger, and tossed his book down onto the desk.

"Hello, Dean," said Cas, without looking up. He made a few careful notes on a piece of paper, then removed his glasses and picked up Nineteen Eighty-Four. "So, what did you think?"

Dean flopped into his usual chair on the other side of the desk, running his left index finger over the whorl in the wooden arm. He was glad he’d been able to change out of his suit into jeans and a jacket; he wanted to leave the office as far behind as possible.

"Yeah," he said. "I liked it. Well, I mean, I didn’t," he amended, and enjoyed the curious frown on Cas’ face. "I didn’t like the story, ‘cause you’re not meant to. It’s a cautionary tale, sorta thing, right? But I liked the book."

"Why?" Cas asked, a questioning spark in his eyes.

"I think it’s interesting, you know? Big Brother. Makes you think, how much of our lives today is actually like that? How much of the stuff we see on the news is real, and how much is just stuff we’re being shown so that we’ll react in a certain way?" Cas was nodding along, and Dean felt a little kick of confidence in his chest. "And I liked Winston."

"Even though he worked for the Ministry of Truth, at first?" Cas asked.

"Oh, well, come on, Cas. The guy was just doing his job. He worked in an office, his boss told him what to do and he did it. I can relate," Dean said, somewhat bitterly. "He was just doing what he had to."

"How is work, Dean?" Cas asked, sounding concerned.

"Same old, same old," Dean muttered, not wanting to bring his work into this place too much. He ran his fingers absently over that knot in the wood again, scanning down the titles on the spines of the books sitting in a teetering pile atop Cas’ cluttered desk. Cas nodded, seeming to understand.

"Well, I have something a little different for you this week, Dean," he said, and proffered a dusty old tome. Their fingers brushed lightly as Dean reached out to take it; he felt a warm twist in his chest.

"Pride and Prejudice?" Dean read off the cover dubiously. "What is this, man?"

"Old," Cas replied succinctly. "And probably not at all to your taste. But I’d like you to read it anyway."

Dean shrugged. “Sure, why not,” he said. “I’ll be over there, usual spot.”

"Don’t try anything. I’ll watch over you," Cas said in a mock-threatening tone, his familiar reply making Dean smile as he settled himself on the worn leather couch by the window. It seemed like an age had passed since the first time he’d wandered into the library, acting like the kind of guy who needed watching over in case he tore out some pages or scrawled obscenities on the classics. He wondered if Cas still watched him for the same reasons. He sighed, and opened the book to the first page. "Okay, Jane," he said softly, "let’s see what you’ve got."

An hour and a half later, Cas got tired of hearing Dean’s angry huffing from a distance and came to investigate.

"This book? It’s ridiculous," Dean complained as soon as Cas was within earshot, smacking the open pages with an accusatory finger.

"It is old-fashioned," Cas admitted as he sat down next to Dean, "but-"

"No, I mean, it’s ridiculous how much these two like each other, but they’re not saying anything! One’s trying to play it cool, and the other one thinks he’s a total douche, but they’re both into it!"

Cas smiled; it was the soft, pleased smile that Dean liked best.

"There is lots of story still to come," Cas said.

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean replied, flicking his fingers over the remaining pages. "You know, if people just came out and said when they liked each other, books like this would be a lot shorter. And life would be a lot easier." He felt Cas go tense beside him, and suddenly the atmosphere was thirty fathoms deeper, as though Dean’s words had carried them out of the bay and pushed them into uncharted ocean.

"…yes," Cas said slowly, and Dean could swear the guy was blushing as he polished his glasses on his jumper with strong, deft hands. The seconds drained by; Dean was unable to take his eyes off Cas’ face, his sad blue eyes and the small downturn to his full lips. 

"Yes, well. I’ll leave you to it. Only ten minutes or so until closing time," Cas said after a few moments, starting to stand. "I’ve got to close dead on nine thirty this evening." Dean felt the moment rushing away from him, felt the swell of the conversation ebbing, brushing him back to the safety and silence of the harbour. He tried to speak, and found that every word he’d been meaning to say to Cas for the last three months was suddenly lodged in his throat.

"Cas?" he croaked, standing up too fast and having to take a step forward to regain his balance, accidentally moving himself right into Cas’ space.

Cas faced Dean, his expression unreadable.

"Cas, I, uh. I was, I was thinking. I - I thought - um," Dean stumbled to a halt. "I thought maybe I could check out the vintage car stuff you said you had," he finished in a low, quick monotone.

"Oh," Cas said. "Of course. Yes, I’ll get that for you."

"Just because you said you’d have it in -"

"Yes, it was returned yesterday…"

"And I really like old cars."

"I know, Dean -"

"And you."

"… no, I don’t really like old cars, Dean."

"No, I mean," Dean cleared his throat, "I mean, I like old cars, and I like you."

Cas stared at Dean, his mouth slightly open.

"Not in the same way," Dean added, "of course, uh. Yeah?"

"You like me?" Cas repeated tonelessly.

"I  _like_  like you,” Dean confirmed, hoping frantically that his cheeks weren’t as burning red as they felt. “I like you like Mr Darcy likes Elizabeth.”

Cas snorted derisively, and Dean felt his chest contract.

"Dean," said Cas disparagingly; Dean felt himself shrinking down to two feet high, submerged in embarrassment. Of course Cas didn’t like him back, he was a dirty back-stabbing lawyer, he didn’t belong in Cas’ world - "If either of us is Mr Darcy, it’s me."

Dean gaped at him for a second, barely allowing himself to hope.

"So, uh - so, do you… maybe…?"

"Like you back?" Cas said matter-of-factly. "Yes. A lot."

Dean nodded, trying to remember how to swallow and breathe and forgetting to smile, but hearing his heart beating out a frantically happy jazz tune in his chest.

I think I am going to kiss you now.”

Dean, dumbstruck, awestruck, in all ways utterly stricken, nodded.

"Um," he managed to croak, before Cas stepped closer and tucked one hand at the back of Dean’s neck, under the collar of his leather jacket, pulling their lips together. He buried his hands in the soft wool of Cas’ jumper, tugging their bodies close. Cas’ mouth was warm and chapped and perfect, but after few moments he pulled away.

"What?" Dean asked, concerned. Cas’ eyes were impossibly bright; Dean reached up to trace beneath one of them with his thumb.

"I find it hard to believe this is really happening," Cas said, his voice slightly constricted. "I thought - I thought I would always like you from afar, Dean. I never thought…" he trailed off, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dean’s.

Dean shook his head slowly, feeling Cas’ head follow the movement.

"No way we were meant for that crap, Cas," he said. "You better get used to liking me up close."

Cas sighed, his eyes closed.

"I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve," he said, lilting his voice downwards at the end of the sentence like he always did when he was quoting something. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Pride and Prejudice," Cas answered his unspoken question with a small smile.

"Haven’t got to that bit yet," Dean said, running his thumb along Cas’ lower lip this time.

"You will," Cas murmured. "We will."


End file.
